On the Freedom Trail

by Samuel P. Fortsch

  “Oi! Their secret weapon is acorns?” Brick says with a laugh.

  “No,” I say, “the acorns are just the ammo.”

  “Whatever is shooting the acorns is what we need to worry about,” Gunner says. “That thing had a cyclic rate of at least a thousand rounds per minute.”

  “What’s a cyclic rate?” Penny asks.

  “It means how fast a weapon can shoot. But don’t worry, Penny. Big weapons tend to miss little targets. We’re going to figure this out,” I say.

  “How? You’ve already been hit. This could get ugly fast,” Penny says. “We split up from Franny, Simon, Lindy, and Daisy, and we don’t know where Jet and Jag are.”

  I’m not sure what exactly we need to do, but I know we need an exit strategy.

  “Follow me,” I say to the group.

  I lead everyone over to the edge of the roof and we all look out to the city below. It’s bustling with activity, and I can’t see a way out. This old building is much smaller than all of the new ones that surround it.

  “Gunner, any thoughts?” I ask.

  Gunner surveys the city, his eyes scanning the skyline.

  “I don’t remember these buildings. I can’t see around them. I’m sorry, Rico,” says Gunner.

  “No time for sorry. Trust your gut and tell us where to go,” I say.

  “Let’s make our way to the Charles River,” he says.

  “Oi!” Brick hollers.

  “Brick, quiet,” I say. “Gunner has a plan and I want to hear it.”

  Gunner begins to explain. “Once we get to the river we can—”

  “Oi!” Brick says again, pointing behind me.

  “What is it, Brick?!” I holler back at him.

  I turn around to see what he is pointing out.

  “Corgis! Twelve o’clock,” I howl.

  “Oi! I was trying to tell you,” Brick says.

  “What now?” Penny hollers as the corgis begin approaching us. I look around the rooftop. There’s nowhere to go.

  “Follow me!” Gunner shouts, and begins running to the side of the roof.

  We all follow Gunner, running as fast as we can, and then suddenly Gunner jumps from one roof to the next, barely making it to the other side.

  “Keep on my tail!” Gunner shouts.

  We continue to follow him from rooftop to rooftop, losing more and more corgis with each roof we cross.

  * * *

  ★ ★ ★

  Time: 2045 hours

  Gunner leads us down a long set of stairs in an abandoned building. Once we make it to the ground level, he turns around, and I can tell he’s struggling to breathe as he tries to give out directions.

  “Stick to the Freedom Trail and follow me,” he says, panting hard.

  “Take two mikes, catch your breath,” I say to Gunner and the rest of the Pawtriots.

  “Negative, Rico. I’m okay. We have to keep moving,” says Gunner.

  We continue to follow Gunner and the Freedom Trail, making our way through the city streets past beautiful buildings, tall monuments, and statues as we weave in and out of the crowds. Soon the cobblestone streets turn into marshy grass as we make our way closer and closer to the Charles River. I can feel the wind picking up as we get near the water.

  Finally, Gunner stops running. We all take a minute to rest.

  “Oi! I thought you were trying to kill me,” Brick says, rolling onto his back in the grass, panting heavily.

  “What now?” Penny asks, pointing to the river.

  I look out to the river and realize Gunner knows his history. During the American Revolution, colonial soldiers used the river as a natural barrier to keep the British soldiers at bay. We can use the river in the same way and keep the Welsh corgis at a safe distance.

  “One if by land,” says Gunner.

  “Two if by sssea,” says Smithers as he motions to the river.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Penny asks.

  “During the American Revolution, a colonial patriot from Bossston named Paul Revere helped ssstart an intelligence and alarm sssyssstem to keep watch on the Britisssh Army,” Smithers says. “On the night of hisss hissstoric ride, Revere was tasssked to ride to Lexington, Massachussets, with the newsss that the Britisssh were coming. He usssed lanternsss to relay the newsss to his fellow patriotsss. One lantern meant the Britisssh were arriving by land—”

  “And two meant by sea,” Gunner finishes.

  “But what does that mean for us?” Penny asks.

  “You see that boat across the river? We’re going to commandeer it and hit the open seas back to DC,” I say.

  “I’m sick of boats. Big or little! We just got off the sea,” Brick hollers.

  “Pawtriots, before we get cornered by a battalion of Welsh corgis, let’s get our paws wet and make our way to that boat,” I say, jumping into the Charles River.

  The cold water that surrounds me immediately shocks me. I look across the water and worry that maybe this plan was a bit ill-advised. It’s a long way away to the other bank, and the water is choppy. Still, I’m on a mission and have a code to live by—the Soldier’s Creed. I will never quit, I remind myself as I begin swimming.

  The rest of the Pawtriots jump into the river and follow my lead.

  * * *

  ★ ★ ★

  Time: 2115 hours

  “We’re almost to the other side!” Penny shouts.

  “There’d better be some tasty treats on that boat!” Brick hollers.

  I want to laugh, but I’m having trouble keeping my head above the water. I was never a great swimmer to begin with, and only having one front paw makes it even harder.

  Gunner passes me with ease. And so does Smithers. I’m swimming as hard as I can, but the water is cold, and the current is strong. Water flows into my mouth as I begin to pant.

  “Come on, Rico!” Gunner shouts back to me. “Keep pushing.”

  I feel my wet fur weighing me down even more. I’m panting harder and harder. I can barely breathe. My head is just above the surface.

  “Rico!” Penny calls out. “Keep swimming!”

  I can see the boat in plain sight. But I’m starting to sink into the cold, dark water. I’m only twenty feet away from the shore, but I realize I’m not going to be able to stay afloat.

  I look up one last time to see the Pawtriots safely on the bank of the river. I must be seeing things. It’s dark, but I swear I see another dog with them.

  A choppy wave rushes over me, and I swallow more water. I’m completely exhausted and begin sinking, and then everything goes black.

  CHAPTER 5

  OLD DOG, OLD FRIEND

  Location: Bank of the Charles River

  Time: 2130 hours

  I’m dripping wet, looking up at the bright moon, and completely disoriented. Silhouetted by the moon is a mystery dog staring right down at me.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “You were drowning. This dog here saved you,” Gunner says, pointing to the mystery dog.

  “Who are you?” I ask the dog.

  “I’m just an old dog looking for an old friend,” the mystery dog says, and in an instant I realize who it is.

  “Chaps!” I holler as I try to stand up but can’t.

  “Easy now, Rico. You need to rest,” Chaps says, lowering his head next to me so I can get a closer look.

  I can barely move my mouth to speak. I feel like I’m seeing a ghost.

  “But . . . I saw you . . . and the beast . . . in the sewers. The water was rushing in. There’s no way you could’ve escaped,” I say.

  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Chaps says with a hearty smile. He extends his paw to help me to my feet. I give him a big hug.

  “It’s good to see you, too,” Chaps says.

>   I watch as Chaps and Gunner introduce themselves to each other.

  “But how did you survive?” I ask.

  “I fought like my life depended on it. I gave that foul beast back in DC every ounce of fight I had left in my body. He took my other front leg, but I took him down,” says Chaps as he motions down toward his wheel and his prosthetic right leg. “Listen, enough about me. You guys are in serious trouble.”

  “Tell me about it. We’re trying to get back home, but—”

  “The Red Hands,” Chaps says, cutting me off.

  “How’d you know?” I ask him.

  “After I managed to escape the sewers and I got fitted with two new legs from an old Army buddy of mine, I didn’t know where else to go, so I went back to the Sanctuary. I figured you guys would be there,” Chaps says.

  “We were in Texas,” I tell him.

  “Tracking. I knew something wasn’t right the moment I got there. So I did some recon. For days and nights I kept watch. Everything was quiet until a few days ago. All I saw were big bulldozers and excavators,” Chaps says.

  “What for?” Penny asks.

  “Well, at first I thought they were going to destroy the place. But then they started digging all around the Sanctuary. Some evil-looking man wearing a white suit and red-rimmed glasses was calling all the shots. He and his two Dobermans barked orders from sunup to sundown,” Chaps says.

  “That’s Mr. Mocoso and his nasty pinschers, Hans and Heinz,” I say.

  “Did you see Ms. Becca? She’s the rightful owner of the Sanctuary. But Mr. Mocoso wants to steal it from her. What happened to her?” I ask him.

  “Mr. Mocoso had the Red Hands lock her up in the office,” Chaps says.

  Things at the TOC are bad, and I wonder if we should have ever left at all. But doubting yourself and your decisions spells trouble for your unit. I have to stay focused.

  “So how did you know we’d be in Boston?” I ask Chaps.

  “I overheard Mr. Mocoso one night on the phone. He received intel that the Pawtriots were docking in Boston. That’s when he called on the Red Hands and ordered that battalion of Welsh corgis to stop you,” Chaps says.

  “I told you they were bad news,” Gunner chimes in.

  “Whatever it is they are digging for, they want it for themselves. And they certainly don’t want the Pawtriots stopping them,” Chaps says. “Oh, and one more thing. Apparently these corgis have some classified secret weapon.”

  “Oi! We know it’s some sort of mechanical monster that shoots bloody acorns out of its eyes. It almost put a hole in Rico’s head,” Brick says.

  This is all a lot to take in, but I know I need to stay focused on the mission: Get back home to Washington, DC, and support the rest of the Pawtriots. We can either keep running from the Red Hands and risk being blindsided, or we can bring the fight to them.

  “Gunner, any idea where you think the Red Hands will go next?” I ask him.

  Gunner takes a moment to think.

  “Bunker Hill,” he says with confidence.

  “Why’s that?” I ask.

  “Because that’s one of the Freedom Trail endpoints. They’re trying to match and predict our movements,” Gunner says.

  “Listen up, Pawtriots. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of running. I’m tired of being on the receiving end of attacks,” I say.

  “Oi! I’m just tired in general!” howls Brick as everyone grins.

  “Our home is at stake. What we love is at stake, and it is our duty to protect it. In the Army, I never backed down from a fight, and I don’t plan on backing down today. We’re going to take the fight to the Red Hands here and now. We’re going to take care of business. Can I get a Hooah?!”

  “Hooah!” the Pawtriots holler back at me as we make our way on foot to Bunker Hill.

  CHAPTER 6

  RED HANDS & WHITE EYES

  Location: Bunker Hill

  Time: 2200 hours

  The moon is high in the night sky. We’ve been running hard for the last fifteen mikes through the streets of Boston, following Gunner’s lead until we arrive at the foot of Bunker Hill, a famous battle site during the American Revolution, where vastly outnumbered Americans faced down the British.

  “Welcome to Bunker Hill, Pawtriots,” I say.

  “So this is where the battle took place?” Penny asks.

  “In a way, yesss,” Smithers begins, “but technically ssspeaking, the vassst majority of the battle was fought on Breed’sss Hill, right over there.” He points to another hill.

  I quickly scan the situation and see the battalion of corgis. They’re about three hundred yards away, marching right toward us.

  “No time for a history lesson, Smithers! We’ve got company. Let’s move!” I howl.

  I look at Gunner and can see he is exhausted.

  “Once we get to the top, we can take a quick breather. But we’ve got to keep moving,” I say.

  “Oi! If we’re going to face them, then why not down here?” asks Brick.

  “Because up there we have a chance. We need to use the high terrain to our advantage,” I say as I point to the top of the hill.

  We begin making our way up the hill, and I look back and notice Gunner is struggling to keep up.

  “Come on, Gunner. You’ve got this,” I say to give him some motivation. I watch as he picks up his pace and follows my lead.

  “Oi! Are we there yet?” Brick hollers to me.

  “We’re almost at the top. Keep moving,” I say back.

  And just as we reach the top of the hill, I watch as Gunner collapses in exhaustion. We all rush over to help him up.

  “I told you, Rico. I’m no good anymore. You’re better off without me,” says Gunner.

  “Negative. Take a few mikes to catch your breath. They don’t care if we’re tired,” I say as I point down to the base of the hill where the corgis are forming up.

  As I face down our enemy, I’m reminded of my time in the Army. Even when we were tired, hungry, and thirsty, we still had a job to do.

  Suddenly my ears perk up.

  “What is it, Rico?” Penny asks me.

  “I see Jet and Jag!” I say.

  “Oh, thank goodness!” Penny says.

  Jet and Jag make their way up the hill to us, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  * * *

  ★ ★ ★

  Time: 2205 hours

  “What are you doing at the top of Bunker Hill?” Jag calls out, exhausted from sprinting up the hill.

  Penny races over to Jet and Jag and gives them a big hug.

  “I was worried we’d never see you again,” says Penny.

  “I’m worried we may never see anyone again if we don’t get out of here!” says Jet.

  “We’re not running anymore. We’re going to use the high ground and take the fight to them. If they close in on our position, we’ll have to retreat down the other side of the hill,” I say.

  “Negative, Rico. They’ve got us surrounded. Check your six,” says Jag, pointing behind us.

  I turn around and, even through the dark, I can see more corgis—at least ten rows of ten, waiting to strike. In the Army, we were trained to always prepare for the worst but hope for the best. Still, I know hope is not a plan, so I take a quick moment to assess the battlefield and devise a strategy. If we had all the Pawtriots here, we’d stand a chance, but by the looks of it now, we’re outnumbered and have nowhere to run. The Red Hands are rapidly closing in on our position from all sides.

  “Wait, what in the world is that?” asks Jet, her eyes growing wide.

  “That’s their secret weapon,” I say, looking toward the bottom of the hill at the ten-foot-tall mechanical squirrel.

  “These corgis are disciplined, but they’re not impenetrable. They march in tight battle formations�
�the way soldiers in the American Revolution would march into battle,” I tell them.

  “They’ll keep coming in waves,” Jag says. “There are hundreds of them.”

  “Oi! We’ll never be able to stop them,” Brick says. “Especially not with that robot squirrel.”

  “If we don’t take that squirrel out now, we’ll just have to deal with it later,” Chaps says.

  “But how? Even if we destroy the squirrel, there’s a thousand Welsh corgis in our way,” says Penny.

  Penny’s right. We’re outnumbered. There are at least one hundred twenty-five corgis for every one Pawtriot.

  I look around at the Pawtriots and our increasingly dire situation. I think about the colonial soldiers during the American Revolution. They, too, were vastly outnumbered, but they were able to defeat the British because they used their knowledge of the land to their advantage. But I see nothing but trees, grass, dirt . . . and one big steep hill.

  Then suddenly I realize, that’s it.

  “Brick! Penny! I need mud balls, now!” I shout as I point to the ground. “That means slobber and dirt!”

  “Got it!” Penny says, and she pulls Brick’s tongue and lets his drool pour onto the dirt.

  And as the Red Hands continue their uphill march toward us, I begin handing out more orders to prepare for this attack.

  “Jet and Jag: I need you here and here,” I say, directing them to assume positions about three feet apart.

  “Smithers, I want you to wrap around them,” I say, pointing to Jet and Jag.

  “Why?” Smithers asks.

  “Because you’ll be the slingshot for the mud balls,” I say.

  Smithers wraps his head around Jag and his tail around Jet. Then I look over at Brick and Penny and see they’ve already got dozens of mud balls ready to go.

  “Hurry up, Army! They’re closing in!” Gunner says.

  The Red Hands at our front are only about twenty-five yards away. Now is my time to get into position. I roll onto my back and put my wheel leg in the air.